


Desperate Dealings

by SpellCleaver



Series: Xtober 2020 [15]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Gen, Injury, Left for Dead, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Whump, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 10:28:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30037299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpellCleaver/pseuds/SpellCleaver
Summary: Shortly after ANH, a failed mission sees Luke on the run, his squad all dead. He never expected to find Darth Vader in as dire a situation as his.
Relationships: Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader
Series: Xtober 2020 [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112750
Comments: 23
Kudos: 105
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Desperate Dealings

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally posted here](https://spell-cleaver.tumblr.com/post/633535762820907008/day-31-whumptober-todays-special-torture) for the Whumptober prompt "Left for Dead."

His side was in agony, his legs shaking, but he dragged himself forwards, branch by bloodied branch, and tried not to vomit.

The ambush had been devastating.

Luke— Luke had barely been at war for a few weeks, and he didn't know what to do here. The strike team were all _dead_. All of them. Even— even the commander, and the captain, the one who'd smiled at him and reassured him when he looked like he was in over his head… they were all dead.

That Imperial team had utterly obliterated them. Hunted them for sport.

And Vader had been there.

Luke… hadn't seen him, per se. But he'd heard that respirator—the wheezing, rasping sound he'd heard on the Death Star when Ben had been killed, the one that so many Rebels told stories of—and the Force had run cold around him, warning him… And then he'd turned his head to warn his comrades and—

He'd been too late.

They'd told him to run.

He was still running.

He'd— he'd _felt_ all of his friends die, with an intensity he didn't want and didn't need, that crippled him as he ran and made him want to collapse into the undergrowth and never move again. But becoming food for the trees would not them; it would not help Han and Leia, waiting for him; it would not help Ben, who had died for him; and it would certainly not help his aunt and uncle, who had lived for and raised him. He wanted to stop, but he didn't want to die—and so he would just keep running.

And running.

And running.

It was when he stumbled upon a black heap in the woods that he screamed.

His side hurt—he'd been shot at as he booked it away from that strike team. His leg hurt, and he limped badly; he'd twisted it in a tree root. His head _throbbed_ , like his heart had metastasised into his temple; he'd bashed it hard on that tree root as he went down. That was when he'd first thought about not getting up again.

Even so, even through all the pain and fear and panic… he recognised the dark lord lying limp in the middle of the glade.

He drew his blaster and crept forward.

That… that was Vader alright—though his infamous breathing was nowhere to be heard. It was… stuttering, almost, the respirator. And Vader was propped up against a tree, one of his arms hanging limp enough that Luke _knew_ it was… off. Either that was absolutely shattered and limp and broken, or that was a prosthetic that had had a few crucial wires cut. Knowing what he'd heard about Vader, he was inclined to think the latter.

Luke should run.

He should take the opportunity that was the fact Vader hadn't spotted him yet, and run.

But…

Vader seemed unconscious. He was lying half-upright against a tree, his arm limp, his breathing erratic, utterly still. Luke had a blaster.

He could end it here and the galaxy would be all the better for it.

He drew his blaster and crept forwards.

Lifted it, flicking it to kill, and took aim—

Then tossed it away from him, grunting, disgusted with himself.

He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hands. Stars, he was pathetic.

"You are most pathetic."

Great. Luke gritted his teeth. So the monster wasn't unconscious, and Luke was probably dead.

"Yeah, I know that already," Luke said. "I've been told that. But I'm not about to kill a man in cold blood."

Vader's helmet didn't move, but Luke could feel his gaze on him. "Pathetic."

Luke scowled.

"You truly care so much about the fact that a man seems powerless in your inability to take the upper hand?" Vader growled. "I am _not_ powerless."

And then there was something around Luke's throat.

Something around his throat, and he was yanked into the air, gasping, head pounding and lights flashing, his neck screaming—

He landed back on the ground, chest in agony, pain spearing up his leg again and making it _worse_.

"Let that be a demonstration to you, boy."

Luke gritted his teeth and rubbed his throat. "I still don't want to kill you when all you have to fight back is a few petty tricks."

_"Petty tricks…"_

It was a low blow. Luke knew that. Especially since he wanted to learn the Force himself.

He didn't care.

He wasn't going to kill someone when they couldn't even stand up.

"Strange morals," Vader goaded, "from a boy who destroyed a million people on the Death Star mere weeks ago."

Luke snapped his eyes open and snapped his head to look at Vader. "What!?"

"Am I incorrect? I recognise your signature, boy. Would that I had shot you down before that freighter had appeared."

Luke clenched his jaw. "That was _you_. And it was you who destroyed my squadron now."

"That was Doctor Cylo and his sadistic minions," Vader informed him. "I was simply observing. If I had been in command, _you_ would have died with them."

Luke clenched his fists to stop them from shaking.

"What even happened to you!?" he asked. "You didn't look like this when you were slaughtering. Did you trip over a tree root or something?"

"You are the only one foolish enough for such a stunt, I feel. Cease your yammering."

Luke stared at Vader's limbs. The fact that he wasn't standing… that implied the legs weren't working either. "Someone sabotaged your suit?"

Vader said nothing.

Luke, goaded on by his silence, said, "Your _companions_ sabotaged your suit? And left you to die?"

"I _told you_ ," Vader growled, and suddenly the lightsaber leapt off his belt to scythe through the air at Luke, lit and leering; Luke dived out of the way only to cry out when he hit the ground—"to cease talking. Continue trekking through the undergrowth with your injuries and die of infection or starvation or something equally ignoble. I have no time for you—I have no interest, nor do you have any importance."

"The fact that you haven't killed me yet makes that clear," Luke muttered. "Though you've certainly killed everyone else."

"Your friends are Rebels. You are a Rebel."

"You killed my _father_."

Vader scoffed… then froze.

"You were with Kenobi on the Death Star," he realised, slowly.

Luke frowned. "Yes? You— you cut him down—"

_"Obi-Wan_ ," Vader ground out, "was your—"

"What?" Luke could see where this was going. "No! He was going to be my teacher, but then _you_ killed him. He wasn't my father." Vader didn't react to that beyond a huff, at first, but Luke folded his arms and said, "My father was his student."

And then Vader jerked his head up.

"His… _student_ …" he repeated, very clearly.

Luke frowned. "Yes. Anakin Skywalker. This was his lightsaber—" He reached for his belt, only to grasp plain air.

Vader had already summoned the lightsaber to hover in front of him, examining it closely. "This…" he said hoarsely. "This was your father's lightsaber."

Luke nodded.

He felt exposed saying this to Vader. He felt— why was he talking to him!? Why hadn't he just killed him, or just kept running!?

Because he was tired.

Because he was curious about Vader, and scared of him at the same time.

Because a part of him knew that if he didn't confront him now, when he was weakened, he might never get another chance to confront him and walk away alive.

He was so, so tired. Everything hurt.

Then—to his immense astonishment—Vader tossed it back to him.

Luke gaped, but caught it—sort of. It bounced off his arm and into the undergrowth, and he scrabbled to get it back.

"You are Anakin Skywalker's son," Vader said.

Luke scowled. "Yes. What—"

"You are skilled in piloting. Are you also a skilled mechanic?"

"What?"

"Are you a skilled mechanic?"

"Yes, but—"

"Fix my legs. Now."

Luke gaped. " _What_? You— I just told you that you killed my father, and—"

"I did not kill your father, Luke. He is not dead."

Luke had not told Vader his name.

"What!?" Hope soared in his chest, only to be soured by sense—Vader was lying. Of course he was. "My father is _dead_ —Ben told me—"

"Obi-Wan Kenobi is a liar and a fool. Of course he lied to you. But I will tell you the truth… if you fix my legs."

Luke shuddered—shook his head, and shuddered. "No. No, _why_ should I _ever_ believe you?"

"If you help me, I will tell you where your father is now."

Luke shouldn't.

He really, really shouldn't.

But… the Force, he thought, was telling him that _Vader wasn't lying_.

"You will not get off this planet without me anyway, Luke," Vader said softly. "All your Rebel friends will assume you died with the others. No one is coming to rescue you. But I will help you escape."

Luke closed his eyes. "Just if I fix your legs?"

"That is my only price."

Luke swallowed.

This made no manner of sense at all.

But he wanted to know about his father.

He _needed_ to know about his father.

"Alright," he said, and stepped towards Vader.


End file.
